Fortune Snow
by RomanPie
Summary: The lone son of the richest Atlesian family joins the ranks of Beacon Academy and his aggressive and arrogant attitude strikes a chord with the students. He soon finds a little more than he bargained for.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

"He's the best damn fighter I've ever seen for his age!" Manner chuckles as he takes a sip from the freshly-prepared tea placed before him, "Hell, he's getting close to beating me!"

Stiert smiles as he drinks from his own mug, "I'm glad to hear you speak highly of my son, Mister Manner." – he placed his mug down gently and adjusted his dress gloves to fit more comfortably about his hands – "It is a shame that I have not the time to observe." He frowns slightly.

"I assure you, Mister Stiert, sir, that he is well above his league in terms of combat prowess and battlefield knowledge." – Manner adjusts his position in his seat so that it is more pleasant for him – "I would fit him to be more of the lone wolf style of fighter since he, uh, doesn't really hold well with other people." Manner's look grows shaky.

"I understand what you are saying," Stiert replies, "Which is why I have made the important decision to submit an application for him to Beacon." Unknowingly to Stiert and his accomplice, one of the guards at the back of the room shifts his eyes at hearing this.

"Yes, I would recommend the same." Manner agrees, "He certainly needs to start socialising with others of his age." Manner sniffs softly before continuing, "It would be a shame to see somebody with so much talent thrown away to depression…"

Stiert's eyes grow dark, "I don't want his depression to take control of his life." – he folds his hands and rests them gently on the oak table between him and Manner – "No child should deserve such a severe mental issue."

"I have to say, poor Ruhe has gotten the short end of the stick. In fact, it's one of the few things that holds him back in combat." Manner says.

"Things never were the easy for him since…" Stiert stops himself and Manner sees the grief in his eyes. The old friends share a moment of painful silence before the doors crack open and a young figure steps in.

The boy's white overcoat runs to his knees and the black undercoat obscures the rest of his top half. Formal white trousers cover his legs. The outfit compliments his impressive physique and his silvery hair is flicked to the side. His face is smooth and certainly adds an attractive and well-toned aspect to the boy.

"Father, Mister Manner." The boy greets as he strolls towards the two and seats himself comfortably in the leather seat provided for him at the side of the small oak table, "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Hello Ruhe." His father greets, offering a small smile to the boy, "I called you to talk about the future, Ruhe."

Ruhe raises an eyebrow in question, "I expected this to be about the Schnee family again." – he pours himself a cup of tea with the provided teapot and a spare teacup – "So what is it you need, dad?"

Stiert looks over Manner's shoulders at the guards, "Please leave us." He says. The guards exit through the door and shut it as they vacate, sending a resonating click through the room.

"We two were talking," Stiert starts, "about assassins. About how you have matured so quickly and how your combat prowess has piqued."

Ruhe decides against commenting about how his father was never present for his training.

"And so what of the assassins?" Ruhe questions, "If they come here, they die. That seems to be the rule I have engraved into my bones. Assassins do not deserve to live, so they die; if not by my hand then by somebody else's."

"We were talking about how dangerous it is, being here, and how you really don't tend to socialise very well with others of your age…" Manner holds his hands wide, gesturing to the palace.

Stiert continues from Manner, "…and we have decided to send you to Beacon."

Ruhe's hand stops dead, his cup half raised to his mouth. His stillness holds deadly as his eyes glaze over. Lowering his hand slowly, delicately, Ruhe makes to stand from the table but his father's hand clamps down onto his shoulder like an iron glove.

" _Ruhe_ ," he demands, "this is for your own sake." The look in his eyes is one foreign to Ruhe Stiert, one completely unseen look of fear and guilt in his father's grey eyes. Ruhe closes his own eyes and vents through his nose the air of anger in his lungs as he slowly returns his figure to the chair. His arms fold over his lap.

"Ruhe," his father starts once more, "you understand fully your own pain, and I can see that. I hate seeing you driven through such emotions; it kills me to watch this happen…" Stiert trails off, his eyes veering off into the distant land in his mind.

"Ever since I found you… I… I was stricken as to what to do with you. You were frail, weak, malnourished, broken. When I took you in, your mother became so obsessed and you quickly drifted to the back of my mind. I was scared, and I still don't know why… because I see such an amazing boy behind your eyes, son." Stiert's hand is still on Ruhe's shoulder, firm.

"Manner has told me about how you have grown… I wish I could have been there to see it." His father looks as though he is ready to cry, "I don't want to force my legacy onto you, and I don't want to place my burdens upon your shoulders, Ruhe. I want you to do what is right in your mind, to be the person you wish to be." His hand slowly slips from his son's shoulder and falls limp by his side.

"I am set to die tonight, Ruhe."

Ruhe loses his words, his mouth is sewn shut.

"You don't have to go to Beacon… not if it isn't what you want. I won't force you anymore, Ruhe."

* * *

 _I want you to do what is right in your mind_

 _What is right?_ Ruhe asks himself, _I can't see what is right, dad. There's just a wall._

Ruhe stares at the ceiling as it twists and turns to a sky of jagged rocks. There is no solace at home anymore – the air is filled with despair. He raises his hand and extends it up; spreading his fingers he looks at the outline of bone visible through his skin.

Between his fingers he sees stars form, twinkling and sparkling calmly, lightly. They are friendly and kind, welcoming Ruhe to the sky beyond his ceiling.

Are they stars?

Maybe they are losses.

A fifth star dances a sad waltz to fill the fifth and final gap between his fingers – empty once – and now sparkles and twinkles like the rest.

They are losses.

Ruhe lowers his hand back to his side and the ceiling twists back to painted wood. His eyes flicker and fade as his mind fills with thoughts of happier times.

A thud sounds through the building and he hears the shattering of a vase from the room through the wall.

The mirage of happiness is blown away in violent winds and the dust of depression settles once more – the fifth recurrence. Ruhe's eyes grow teary.

He cries.

He cries to himself.

There is nobody else to lean on.


	2. Chapter 1 - Beacon Academy

_**Fortune Snow Chapter 1 - Beacon Academy**_

* * *

Ruhe Stiert stood stiffly in the courtyard, erect like a statue with his eyes painted on his face, glaring forward directly into the rising sun. Manner stands beside him donning a solemn look on his face, one look of despair and agony at the passing of his old friend. Manner looks over at the young boy.

"Without anybody fit to run the company it will fade into nothing." Manner says, "This is the choice he wanted for you. I'm glad you made this decision." Ruhe doesn't break his gaze from the sunrise, hardly acknowledges Manner's words though he hears them clean and pristine as the daylight.

After several minutes of silence a black car pulls up and Ruhe gives his friend a gentle hug and a pat on the back before slowly opening the door and placing his briefcase on the unoccupied seat. A guard opens the trunk and loads his luggage in.

"If you ever need help," Ruhe says, "I'm sure you'll be able to find me." he smiles softly as he seats himself in the car and closes the door. He hears the trunk slam shut and the driver takes off commonly.

"An hour, sir." He tells Ruhe. Ruhe does not reply.

The journey is long and arduous – Ruhe spends most of his time gazing through the window, out into the streets of Atlas.

"How long will the flight be?" Ruhe asks the driver, his tone dull and depressive.

"Three hours, sir. You shall arrive at Beacon at around ten o'clock." The driver responds. Ruhe nods though the driver fails to see this, instead focusing on the road.

The flight is no easier for Ruhe. Once again most of his time is spent with his face pressed against window. Perhaps any other day he might have possibly taken a liking to the view. All he saw this day were seas of blood. His boot taps solemnly against the metal flooring and his fingers drum against his thigh.

As the airship lands he gathers his briefcase and exits his personal cabin and disembarks on the ramp. He eyes an abundance of figures wandering about the Beacon campus.

The sight of Beacon was magnificent, though Ruhe thought of it as no more than a building, glorified in all aspects yet little more than a school.

Two guards flank the boy from behind but he gestures to them with a flick of his wrist and says, "No guards."

One of the guards looks stares at him and replies, "We were ordered to accompany you until professor Ozpin's office." Ruhe sighs and his eyes stung from their dryness, "Get my luggage." The guard nods and turns to walk back into the airship as Ruhe begins his march towards Beacon's main hall.

He looks forward and sees nothing but a frustratingly white path. It glows in his eyes and there is nothing but blackness wherever he turns his head. His eyes are fixated on the path and he sees nothing but it. The guards vanish from sight and the grass turns to nothing.

He walks for minutes until something touches his shoulder and the world reverts back to reality. The sudden collision forces Ruhe to stop suddenly. He looks down.

A girl is lying on the floor rubbing her head, she looks to be disoriented. Ruhe's hand tenses around the handle of his briefcase to the point where he feels as though he is crushing his own hand. His arm becomes jittery with the tension in his hand.

 _A Faunus?_ He notices the pair of bunny ears on her head. He raises his head back to refocus on the path and continues his march towards the main body of Beacon, realising he is getting closer to the many groups of students wandering about. His eyes do not see them clearly.

He hears one of the guards shove the girl off to the side behind him.

Eyes turn to address the boy and he hears mutters amongst the crowds.

 _Hey, that's the Stiert kid._

 _What's he doing here?_

 _Look at that prick_

He ignores their words, subduing the temptation to lash out at them.

 _Degenerates,_ he thinks. He stands taller than most students at 6'4" and he scoffs at their seemingly feeble physique. The guards rush ahead of him and part the crowd; Ruhe drives through the stragglers the two guards were unable to detain. One or two students lashed out and tried to throw random confectionaries at the boy but they were unable to land their throws.

Ruhe blinks and the world around him turns to black, himself becoming the only thing to coexist with the pathway beneath his feet as he blocks out the unwanted noise. He lets out a soft sigh and follows the winding pathway.

He soon finds himself at a set of steel doors: an elevator.

"Leave me now." He addresses the guards without turning to them. Ruhe's free hand feels as though it is a dead branch hanging from a living tree.

The guards turn to look at each other momentarily and exchange wordless thoughts before turning and marching off down the hall. Now that the Stiert family empire was set to collapse without a new heir, each employee would be forced to find new jobs. Each and every guard had been assigned to the Atlesian military program (with their consent) as a final word of thanks from the final remaining family member.

Ruhe Stiert held his finger hovering over the buttons on the wall and eventually pressed down on one, hailing the lift. It took near to half a minute to arrive and Ruhe stepped on, unamused, his steel-sole boots clicking against the metallic flooring of the elevator. The doors slid closed and the contraption shut him in with its artificial lighting, barring any natural light from entering.

He felt almost unsafe in such an enclosed space and backed himself into one of the corners subconsciously. The vertical journey felt like an age of idling and the doors finally slid back open, Ruhe pacing out before they had time to open fully. A short hallway lay ahead of him with an old oak door located on the far end, directly opposing the elevator doors.

He walked.

The hall grew in Ruhe's mind, stretched further out and kept the door just out of the boy's reach until he was finally able to plant his hand firmly on the brass handle. He did not think to knock and instead opted to casually open the door and wander in.

 _How glorified can one building get?_ Ruhe thinks as he observes the room, a large, mostly open space with a view spanning the entirety of Beacon and further on. Above his head, the clockwork gears of the clock tower would grind and pound, though soundlessly and unnoticeably.

"Welcome," a man in green greets Ruhe from the far end of the room, seated behind a desk and back faced to the magnificent glass window that offered the spectacle of a view visible from the tower, "to Beacon Academy. Please have a seat."

 _Ozpin,_ Ruhe thinks, _is not afraid to flaunt._

Ruhe sets his briefcase down beside the chair facing Ozpin before seating himself rather gruffly.

"Keep this short," he says, "today is not the best day for… _this_." His eyes glance about the room and briefly out the window before retaining eye contact with Beacon's headmaster.

"Of course," – Ozpin begins to pour a cup of tea – "I assume you would want me to tell you only necessary details then?"

"Yes," – Ruhe raps his knuckles against the golden buttons on his undercoat – "as well as anything you may deem necessary. I would also like you to set up a sparring match for me; I must gauge my skills and the skills of your students."

"I shall look into that for you." – Ozpin slides a cup of tea to the boy – "Due to a lack of residential accommodation, I'm afraid you will be rooming with a full team of four."

Ruhe gives him a look as if to say, _are you serious?_

"I'm sure you will all be able to appropriate proper sleeping areas and such, but I do intend to move you to a separate room come the opportunity." Ozpin takes a sip of tea and Ruhe sits staring at the man. Eventually, the boy takes a sip from his cup.

"As far as Beacon's traditional initiation ceremony goes, it would be most unfair to send a single new student through the process, so we shall be withholding on that until I find and appropriate substitute tom test your skills.

"Furthermore, since you are joining Beacon halfway through the academic year you will be expected to comply with all standards and regulations, this means that you will not receive any special treatment from myself or any other members of staff."

Ruhe nods, though he is far from giving his undivided attention to Ozpin. Ozpin reaches under his desk and produces a small rectangular device.

"This is your scroll, as appointed by the academy. This will be used to access your on-site residence as well as to keep up with any assignments or communicate with any friends or staff."

' _Friends',_ Ruhe thinks, _is an odd word_

Ruhe slides his cup back to the centre of the table, only having consumed half of its contents. He stands and grasps his briefcase, sensing the end of the conversation.

"The room number is seventeen; as for your requested sparring match, please make your way to the arena as soon as you may." Ozpin gives a small friendly smile and Ruhe returns with a dull expression, leaving quickly without another word.

From a door at the side of the room, Glynda Goodwitch emerges carrying a scroll and donning her usual purple/black cape. She walks over to Ozpin's desk, talking to him as she journeys.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea, professor?" She asks the headmaster as she takes a seat in the chair facing him, "Given his psychological profile I can't possibly see him interacting well with Team RWBY."

"I assure you, Miss Goodwitch," Ozpin replies, "that rooming Mister Stiert with Team RWBY was the best solution in combatting his psychological issues."

"Honestly, I am more worried about the impact _he_ will have on Team RWBY. His psychological profile deems him a threat to others, and not to mention that vile attitude of his-"

"I'm sure they will find a way to deal with it, they always have found ways around everything." Ozpin takes a sip from his tea.

"Well I'm almost certain that Miss Schnee-"

"Miss Schnee will have to deal with Mister Stiert as she has dealt with Ruby Rose. It may be a more heated situation but I am sure there will be a solution in sight by the end of the semester."

Goodwitch sighs, "Is there any preferred opponent I should pick for this sparring match?"

"Cardin Winchester." Ozpin replies firmly

Goodwitch gives him an odd stare, "Sir, reading through Mister Stiert's profile there is no way that Mister Winchester would last two minutes against-"

"I understand that, Glynda. Please set up the match."

"Should I call spectators to the arena?"

"Please do."

Ruhe Stiert stepped out of the elevator, steel clicking against pavement as he made his way to Beacon's arena grounds. He had never set foot in Beacon before, but he felt as if he knew every aspect of every path off by heart. He followed his intuition to the arena.

The people were whispering about him again, whispering violent words and hissing at him in their minds. He could feel their questions, their confusion and their anger.

 _Shut up,_ he scorns mentally

* * *

The gateway to the arena floor is a simple archway; Ruhe walks through and towards the lighted floor.

Spotlights are placed almost everywhere on the ceiling and walls, all angling to face the arena floor. The stands form a circular viewing platform around the arena floor of the same shape, making for a decent view from fair angles. He glares at one of the spotlights for a moment before setting his briefcase down and sitting cross-legged on the concrete, layering his hands atop one another across his lap. He closed his eyes and envisioned a clock; the hands turning much in relation to reality. Eleven minutes passed until he was broken from his state of mind by a vibrating sensation on his wrist.

Lazily, he pulled up the sleeve of his overcoat to reveal a rectangular device spanning the entirety of his forearm, secured into position with metallic claw-like braces dug into his arm. A caller ID showed on the luminescent blue screen. He swiped his finger over the touch pad and spoke.

"What do you want?" Ruhe slowly stood and slipped an earpiece into his ear, produced from a pocket in his overcoat.

"You don't sound too amused." A voice returned, feminine in nature, slightly sharp. Ruhe readjusted the earpiece so that the voice came through clearer.

"What do you want?" He demanded a second time, more stern. The person on the other end gave a light-hearted chuckle.

"The White Fang is getting restless again; they want more support."

Ruhe stared blankly at the ground beneath his feet, "No more funding. We are no longer collaborating with you or the White fang." He ended the call abruptly.

 _I ought to kill them all myself._

He returns the sleeve of his coat to its original position, obscuring the pad on his arm, and seated himself again, waiting for the crowd that would most probably be filing into the arena soon, knowing Ozpin's mind like he did.

Soon enough his predictions turned into reality and the first few students began filing into the arena and taking places in the seats of the observation stands. Ruhe recognises one of the students through a defining feature atop her head: a pair of bunny ears. More and more filed into the arena until at least half the stands were filled.

A middle aged female – whom he recognised as Glynda Goodwitch – approached from the arched entrance. She carried herself with a sense of pride and some sort of intimidatory, angry tone, neither bothering the Stiert son in the slightest. A scroll rested in her hands and she was constantly tapping away at the device's screen.

"Are you ready to compete?" She asks, still tapping at her scroll.

 _Communicating with Ozpin,_ Ruhe suggests, _or organising something? Maybe this sparring session?_

"Compete?" Ruhe replies, dull and monotone, "This is meant to be a sparring match. I have no intention to compete when gauging the skill of this institute's children."

The woman seemed to hold some fire in her eyes and she was seemingly directing that negative emotion towards him.

"Trust me, Mister Stiert," the woman glared at the boy, "you _will_ be competing today." Ruhe swore he could see a small smirk rush over her face.

 _She intends to pit me against multiple students,_ Ruhe's eyes widened in realisation but quickly returned to their usual half-closed, unamused position as a smirk took over his lips. His thumb hovered over a small button on the handle of his briefcase, anxiously waiting for the upcoming bout.

His eyes shift slightly to the right as a quartet of students donning medieval-style armour step onto the arena floor. As they pass, Ruhe overhears one of them bewailing over some past event apparently related to current events, though Ruhe pays little attention to the details. The one heading the group – a tall brutish-looking kid who stood barely an inch or two higher than Ruhe himself – shot him an odd glare, delivering a silent message that Ruhe couldn't quite pinpoint. They took their positions at the opposite end of the arena floor.

"Good luck, Mister Stiert." Goodwitch takes her position at the side of the arena floor.

A holographic screen lights up on two of the walls opposite each other, portraying each combatant's name and aura gauge.

 _Cardin Winchester, Russel Thrush, Dove Bronzewing, Sky Lark._ Ruhe's mind subconsciously matches each face to its subsequent name.

The tall boy at the front, Cardin, holds a hand out as the buzzer sounds to begin the match. He mutters something inaudible to Ruhe and his teammates back down for the moment and seem somewhat disappointed, having already drawn their weapons. The looks on their faces suggest they are used to seeing such behaviour from the boy.

 _The leader, probably._ Ruhe analyses, _It seems he may enjoy boasting._ A small grin creeps onto the Stiert boy's face

"Are you a fool enough to face a superior opponent alone without assistance?" Ruhe taunts, clipping his briefcase to the specially-designed holster on his back as he marches head-on to meet his lone opponent.

Cardin smiles in response and raises his mace above his head, prepping for a vertical swing. As the mace rises, Ruhe's eyes catch the glowing red crystal secured in the head of the weapon.

 _Fire dust. Raised weapon ten metres out, vertical swing._

Ruhe quickly sidesteps the predicted ranged attack and continues his march to Cardin, still weaponless. Upon the failed attack Cardin charges ahead, taking a swing at his opponent's head which was easily ducked. Before Cardin could launch his next swing, he felt something collide with his gut and was pushed back a full metre.

Ruhe stood to his feet after dealing a solid blow to his opponent's midsection and took his signature fighting stance: left hand raised ahead of his face, open palm, and right hand lowered behind his back and slightly to the side as though ready to pull a gun from his waist.

 _Mace does not seem versatile_

He advances slowly and steadily, his opponent doing the same whilst muttering the word 'lucky' under his breath.

Cardin spun and delivered a swift strike with his mace – seemingly too quick for a traditionally heavy weapon – and Ruhe backpedalled to avoid it. Cardin followed the distance created with another powerful overhead swing and Ruhe rolled left to avoid the column of flames and shattered concrete. Using Cardin's slow recovery time, Ruhe hastily closed the gap between the two with a pair of quick steps and a frontal kick that connected with the bridge of the taller boy's nose. Unlike Ruhe had wanted, the boy did not stumble back but instead took the brunt of the impact like a tank, so he followed his kick with a quick reverse hook that sent his opponent sprawling to the ground.

As Ruhe created more distance between the two, Cardin's teammates made to help him up, though he aggressively shoved them off and charged forward again. His teammates, taking initiative, decided against letting Cardin rush in alone again and outpaced their leader.

The fastest of the four, Russel, charged Ruhe blindly, swiping left and right with his dual daggers and stabbing at every possible opening his eyes to convey to his brain.

 _Daggers, dust capabilities_

His brain was surely a small one, for his attacks were blatant and the Mohawk boy had left several openings for counterattacks. Ruhe dodged and redirected the boy's attacks with gloved hands, though, before being able to expose his weak points, was rushed by another member, Dove.

 _Sword-gun hybrid_

Ruhe struck at Russel's face with his palm, momentarily stunning him and giving Ruhe enough time to slide between his legs to avoid the swing aimed for his head at Dove's hands. Having evaded one attack he had slid straight into Cardin's view; the mace reared above his head once more. Ruhe quickly tackled one of Russel's legs and pulled him over himself; a meat shield. Cardin hesitated and Ruhe delivered a swift kick to his knee, toppling the leader.

Ruhe quickly pushed Russel to the side and caught Dove's sword between his hands as he brought it down and swung his legs up, rolling backwards and onto his feet. The briefcase on his back made the manoeuvre difficult, but it was something he had performed countless times. With Dove's sword locked between his hands and between his legs, Ruhe spun and hooked his leg around Dove's neck, using his momentum to bring the boy to the ground.

Sky Lark approached from behind, thrusting his halberd. Ruhe anticipated the attack and rolled forward, leaving Sky to almost impale Dove by accident.

 _Halberd. Simple_

Russel was back to his feet and tossed one of his daggers, Ruhe catching it fluently and spinning to gain momentum before returning the throw. The dagger strikes Russel in the face; he has his aura to save him, but he is out of commission.

Ruhe delivers a roundhouse kick to the advancing Sky lark with deadly precision and speed, catching him directly on the jaw and sending him flying a couple metres off to the side. Ruhe quickly rushes Cardin who rears his mace above his head for the third time. Closing the gap between them with inhuman speed, Ruhe finds himself too close to Cardin for his opponent to mount any offense and quickly delivers a rapid succession of punches to his sternum and midsection. His technique is a clever blend of Boxing, Wing Chun and Hung Ga, targeting Cardin's shoulder joints and unarmoured biceps as well as his initial assault on the boy's midsection.

Cardin, lost and with a broken body, is used as Ruhe's second meat shield to block Dove's bullets. As the ranged assault halts, Ruhe boots Cardin forward, sending him stumbling into Dove and the two collapse in a heap. Ruhe spins and brings his boot down on Dove's chest, dropping his aura into the red.

Anticipating an attack from Sky, Ruhe quickly steps back and into his arced attack, blocking the steel pole with his forearm. Sky spins and swings again, a horizontal attack of the same style but from the opposite direction. Ruhe ducks under the swing and delivers a strong fist to his sternum, stumbling Sky. A spin kick sends Sky's halberd flying out of the arena, lodging into one of the walls. Ruhe launches off his back leg and delivers a wild clothesline to the unarmed boy sending him head-over-heels. It wasn't part of his style, but he did it anyway.

He looked at his fallen adversaries. They lay scattered like dead sheep. A most unamusing battle, especially for a four vs one handicap.

Murmurs pass around the gathered crowd and slowly but steadily they break into applause. The half of the room who recognised him to be the supposed heir to the Stiert's business empire simply sat in bemused amazement trying to process what had just happened whilst the other half – whom had never seen the boy before – began gossiping. Even Professor Goodwitch looked impressed to some extent.

' _That was amazing!'_

' _To think a Stiert could do this…'_

' _What the hell just happened?'_

' _He's so dreamy…'_

"Is that it?" The chatter quickly died down.

"Is that _it?_ " Ruhe repeated, louder.

" _Is this Beacon?_ " – Ruhe's steel-soled boots rung out against the cold concrete floor as he jerked, picking up Dove's sword only to toss it away with violent intention – "ARE THESE WARRIORS?" He screamed, punting Cardin's head with the tip of his boot and eliciting a short cry of pain from the boy.

"Mister Stiert, that is enou-" Goodwitch was cut short by another scream from Ruhe.

"ARE YOU PEOPLE TO BE MY PEERS?" His vision flashed crimson as his heart began to race with anger.

His tone became slightly less aggravated, "Four against one… and I walk out unscathed…" He looked at the holographic screen. His aura bar was untouched.

"Mister Stie-"

"YOUR STUDENTS," Ruhe aimed his finger directly at Goodwitch, his tone rising once more, "ARE WHIMSICAL!" His head snapped to glare through the crowd of spectators elevated in the stands. His eyes were glazed over, a dead shade of grey.

"I am… disappointed." He began pacing the arena floor, "No staining of my blade… these are not warriors." He lightly kicked the beaten body of Russel Thrush.

"No use of my semblance… operating at sixty percent capability…" he muttered to himself.

In the audience, Blake Belladonna's ears perk up, the girl barely deciphering the boy's mutterings.

Briefcase bolted securely to his back, Ruhe made to leave the arena structure when Glynda raises her voice.

"Is there anybody else who would like to challenge Mister Stiert?"

His feet stop dead. His head turns to the audience.

Most of their heads were turned, centering their gaze on one area in the stands. Small chatter was present between the students as they begin glancing over at one student.

"Would you like to try your hand against Mister Stiert, Miss Nikos?"

* * *

 **Volume 3 approaches! ALL ABOARD THE HYPE TRAIN!**


	3. Chapter 2 - Pyrrha Nikos

_**Fortune Snow Chapter 2 – Pyrrha Nikos**_

* * *

 _Pyrrha Nikos?_

Ruhe Stiert recognised the name as one well known. He had seen it printed finely in almost half the newspapers he had read through most of his life. Her name was a big deal indeed, according to the papers she had apparently been the winner of the Mistral regional tournament four years in a row. Ruhe would have entered himself if his schedule didn't occupy any time he wasn't using to train.

 _Perhaps this is a fight to be taken seriously_

His eyes stalk his new opponent as she takes her position opposing him on the arena floor. Slowly and methodically, he unclips the briefcase from his back and holds it down by his side, eying his opponent carefully. She takes her stance.

 _Good stance_

Yes, he would be using his weapon for this one. He slipped his overcoat off and tossed it to the side, revealing his bare arms.

He flicks his thumb and pushes down on the button built into the handle of the briefcase, the device emanating a small click as it began to transform.

The metallic structure wrapped around his right arm, forming a strong steel-like shield that perfectly fit the build of his arm, as though moulded for it, stretching until his shoulder joint. Its chrome-like appearance shimmers in the light and it seems as though it is a liquid, jittering slightly as it rests about the form of his arm. The metal shifts again, this time with a water-like viscosity, and a fifteen inch blade forms, protruding from the upper side of his wrist. He brushes his left arm against the liquid metal substance and a circular shield quickly forms in his hand of similar design and size to Pyrrha's own. The liquids solidify into a glossy metal.

 _Modal_ his right arm is christened. _Regen_ is his left.

He cracks his shoulders with a shrug and lowers himself into his casual fighting stance, mirroring his unarmed stance with his shield held in front of his and his blade just behind his back and to the side.

He waits for the buzzer to sound. As it does, neither combatant makes a move. The crowd waits in silent anticipation, eager and keen for the battle ready to ensue.

Ruhe watches his opponent and she is stiff as a statue, motionless.

 _She won't make the first move. The xiphos looks mechanical_.

Slowly, Ruhe advances, shuffling his feet forward cautiously. The steel soles of his boots never leave the ground and he advances prepared for any attack.

 _She did not choose to make any ranged attack,_ Ruhe observes, _perhaps she has no ranged capabilities?_

His slow advance quickly breaks into a run and his blade slams against Pyrrha's shield, the girl counterattacking with a quick stab that was blocked by _Regen_. She followed with a spinning slash that was blocked by _Modal,_ Ruhe following with a hardy shove from _Regen_ that pushed Pyrrha back.

She went on the offensive now, tossing her shield at Ruhe whilst _Miló_ shifts into its javelin form. Ruhe ducks the shield toss and _Miló_ extends, jabbing at _Regen_ , propelled by the recoil of the weapon's gun form. He swats away the extended javelin and thrusts _Modal_ forward, the blade erupting into a spear of liquid metal and flying straight for his opponent. She rolls just in time to evade the stream and catches her shield after it had rebounded off one of the far walls.

Ruhe wastes little time and tosses _Regen_ , Pyrrha jumping to narrowly avoid it and the shield exploding into liquids as it collides with the ground. Her jump sends her towards Ruhe and he attempts to swat her out of the air with _Modal_ as it reforms onto a thirty inch blade in his hand, though she blocks the blow with her shield and _Modal_ glances off. Ruhe drops _Modal_ to the floor and it forms a pile of liquid. He uses his hands to redirect _Miló's_ aim away from his head, just glancing over his shoulder as Pyrrha brings her shield in to collide with Ruhe's face. He raises his arms just in time and they take the brunt of the impact, sending him sliding backwards before he rolls backwards onto his feet.

 _Modal_ slithers across the ground, reforming on his arm, back to its traditional fifteen inch blade and _Regen_ reforming in his left hand. Mumbles spread about the crowd.

 _Alright then… I am entertained_

He swings _Modal_ in an arc and it breaks, creating a crescent of liquid flying towards Pyrrha. She jumps to evade but Ruhe had anticipated the move, tossing _Regen_ just before she jumped. _Regen_ hit its mark and exploded, sending the girl flying back. She recovered quickly, just in time to block a strike from the reformed _Modal_ and counter with a swipe, blocked by the reformed _Regen_. He kicked her shield, sending her skidding back a few feet and rammed his fist against the ground, sending a small tidal wave of liquid metal towards his opponent. She blocked with _Akoúo̱_ , but the shield is unable to block the entire wave and her aura drops into the yellow. Ruhe smiles inwardly at the effectiveness of _Modal Regen_.

Her aura absorbing the true effect behind the attack, Pyrrha tosses _Miló_ in its javelin form, her movements obscured behind her shield. Caught up in his internal gloating and with his vision of his opponent obscured by _Akoúo̱_ , Ruhe is unable to completely dodge the javelin, the projectile spiking his shoulder and dropping his aura by a tenth. The impact sends him tumbling back and surprises him.

 _What? How did I let that hit?_

His thoughts are broken when _Akoúo̱_ comes flying at him, Ruhe raising _Regen_ just in time to block it, though the kinetic force shatters the shield and _Regen_ scatters about the floor in liquid form. Without blinking, Pyrrha is all over her opponent, slashing _Miló_ left and right whilst Ruhe blocks each attack with relative ease. The girl mixes in a couple kicks to her barrage which are blocked by either a raised leg or his free left arm. As _Regen_ reforms in his left hand, Pyrrha changes her targeting to his left side, hoping to immobilise his arm and take _Regen_ out of commission.

Recognising the change in tactics, Ruhe directs _Regen_ to form a shield around his arm, just as _Modal_ had formed on his right arm. He used his reinforced arm to block a couple attacks. Pyrrha's tactics changed again, this time going for his legs. Unfortunately for her, Ruhe's leg movements were too fast to keep up with and she often found herself striking and kicking at nothing but air.

Ruhe uses the steel sole of his boot to deflect _Miló_ twice with extreme force, the second rebound staggering Pyrrha slightly as she almost failed to keep grip of her weapon. Seeing an opening, Ruhe strikes at her sword arm and succeeds in disarming her, though she manages to quickly create istance between herself and her opponent with a powerful shove from _Akoúo̱_.

She quickly reclaims _Miló_ from the ground and raises her shield to block a flying front kick. The kick is delivered with aggressive force, shoving Pyrrha back a full meter as she moves to defend herself from a volley of kicks. One kick succeeds to disarm her again, though only tossing it into the air momentarily and allowing Pyrrha to block another kick with her forearm and catch _Miló_ as it falls. She sidesteps a strong front kick and strikes at his idle leg, only for Ruhe to jump and deliver a swift jumping spinning back kick that sends her rolling back.

Pyrrha recovers quicker than anticipated and _Miló_ shifts into its rifle form, firing off a volley of bullets at Ruhe. _Regen_ shifts to form a barrier and the bullets are lost in the liquid. _Regen_ reforms into its shield form and blocks multiple swipes from Pyrrha before Ruhe uses _Modal_ to disarm her, dousing the weapon in liquids and sending it twirling to the edge of the arena. A barrage of kicks is blocked with _Akoúo̱_ , but Ruhe's persistent attacks disallow Pyrrha the time to retrieve her weapon with her polarity semblance.

She blocks a kick with her arm for the second time and her aura drops into the lower halves of the yellow section, and she uses _Akoúo̱'s_ edge to strike at Ruhe, though she misses wildly as the Stiert displays an inhuman amount of speed to dodge the attack. Her shield out of place, she catches an elbow to the temple and a boot to the gut.

 _An impressive display initially, but still a feeble attempt._

"Enough!" Goodwitch called the match as Ruhe pressed _Modal_ to her throat, a boot on her shield arm and his other on her midsection. Ruhe did not know what her semblance was nor did he see anything that could possibly account for one during their spar.

 _Is she holding back?_

Either way, after Ruhe was able to efficiently analyse Pyrrha's fighting style, the match was already lost for her.

He removed his boots from her and _Modal Regen_ shifted back into its briefcase form. He didn't offer her his hand. She wasn't good enough.

"You have had your sparring matches, _Mister Stiert,_ " Goodwitch's voice was curt and harsh, "Now I would suggest you leave."

Before departing, he looked at Pyrrha who was slowly rising from a knee and to her feet.

"Keep training." He offered his simple advice.

* * *

He was far from satisfied. The first four medieval-looking fellows had been a cakewalk (and he had managed to send Cardin, their leader, to the infirmary to fix up his nose) and Pyrrha Nikos, whilst living up to her name, failed to fulfil the values he looked for in a fighter. She wasn't fast enough for him.

Ruhe found himself a bench to rest on for the time being, a place to vent his anger and disappear off into his own world. He closed his eyes and removed himself from reality once more, envisioning himself in nothing but space.

It was a fine escape. Focusing on himself allowed him to contemplate decisions and events, focus in battle, and reduce his frustration. It was something he would do often, just find a quiet place to sit down and wander about in nothingness as time quickly passed by outside. It was his form of meditation.

He reflected on the battle he had just concluded mere minutes ago, replaying the event over in his head. His vision turned grey (as it would always do when envisioning the past) and he saw the battle carry itself out a second time. He saw himself move through his own eyes without having to lift his limbs. He analysed the matchup, picking out mistakes and possibilities. There were few noticeable errors on both combatants' halves which left Ruhe disappointed. Furthermore, the Stiert could learn nothing from the experience which had left him further irritated.

Most unproductive.

Something poked him on the shoulder, forcing out of his dream state and back into the real world. His eyelids shot open and his eyeballs immediately darted to the right, where he had felt the sharp sensation.

"Who are you and what do you want?" He spurted out quickly; one of the 'greetings' his body was programmed to automatically evoke whenever he was contacted by someone unfamiliar to him. It took a moment before his vision was able to clear; still adapting to the new light level he was exposed to outside of his dream reality. Somebody had seated themselves beside him, he could see that much, but he could hardly make out any other details. All else he could see was red… quite a lot of red and a softer colour he couldn't quite pinpoint yet.

As his vision cleared, he came to recognise the person's figure and defining details. Red hair, bronze armour, physically fit figure…

 _Pyrrha Nikos_

He rephrased his greeting, though he still managed to keep it curt at: "What do you want?" She frowned slightly, disapproving of the rudeness of his tone. If Ruhe had to guess, she didn't exactly want to do this either.

She sighed, "Why are you so blunt?" She was looking ahead – not at him – at the garden ahead of the bench.

 _Blunt?_

"I believe no such words to be associated with me." He stared ahead, just as she did.

She sighed again, "You're Ruhe Stiert, right?"

"…What's it to you?" he replied. She gave him a look as if to say, _are you serious?_ It was much similar to the look he had given Ozpin earlier that day.

"Well, you're part of one of the richest families on Remnant, isn't that quite a 'big deal'?"

He observed the girl through the corner of his eye, "You have won the Mistral regional tournament four years in a row. That is more of a 'big deal' than being born into royalty."

Pyrrha turned her head to face him. He was still staring off into the gardens, a blank look crossing his eyes. He wasn't flaunting – judging from the attitude he had displayed earlier, Pyrrha had thought he would do the opposite.

"Your name _is_ bigger than mine."

"We are not the same people."

"But we still have similar status."

He looked at her blankly, "I was the son of one of the richest men on Remnant. You are known for your prowess with a blade. Our names are different."

Pyrrha caught on to his slip-up, "Was?" she asked.

Ruhe cursed internally. Word had not gotten out of his father's death yet. Ruhe was hoping that would stay under blankets until at least a day or two afterwards. Images flashed in his mind; he heard the vase break again, sounding just as it had that night. He switched the subject, an amateur move to avoid sensitive topics and one that basically screamed at the other person to _not_ poke around there anymore.

"You are a fighter, I am a politician." He summarised

"Well, I wouldn't quite say the same." The corners of her lips curved up slightly. Did she just compliment him?

His eyes glazed over, "Don't compliment me."

"Well I-"

"Do not compliment me. I will not accept compliments from lesser fighters." His fist balled, showing his aggressive mind through the small physical action. Pyrrha's small smile faded.

"…Why are you so adamant to have someone congratulate you?"

"I see no compromise in accepting comments from those who have not achieved an equal footing or greater in the field they are commenting about my performance on." He went back to staring emotionlessly ahead and a silence befell the two.

"How lonely does it feel?" The question caught her off guard. His voice turned soft, previously being monotone.

"I…"

"It's lonely, isn't it? Being famous." As Pyrrha tried to formulate a response to the question, she failed to notice how much she was staring at him.

"It…"

"I have no friends my age."

 _Stop talking, Ruhe_

"I-" He cut himself off abruptly and his eyes suddenly widened. Sudden thoughts rushed through his mind. What the hell was he doing?

He gathered his briefcase negligently and made off down the path. What the hell just happened? He hadn't even noticed what he was saying and it just… came out. He mentally scorned himself for being so careless in a social interaction.

Pyrrha Nikos was left sitting at the bench, confused. It was like he became a completely different person for a moment; from cold and careless, ruthless and violent to… well, _normal_. She didn't know the boy at all, just his name and what she had seen of him during public displays from the Stiert family and from what she had gathered he seemed like quite a bored, rich boy who though little of others. From what she had just witnessed, she was beginning to think there was a little more than meets the eye with the Stiert boy.

She would just have to dig around a little bit to find some more.

* * *

 **Seems like the hype train has to stop for refuelling! All of us non-sponsors have to wait another 17 hours or so for Volume 3. What a painful wait this is going to be.**


	4. Chapter 3 - Ruhe Stiert

_**Fortune Snow Chapter 3 – Ruhe Stiert**_

* * *

 _ **Two years prior to current events**_

"Come at me boy!" Manner gave a taunting chuckle which seemed to emanate deep from his bowels. It sounded like a giant bellowing.

Ruhe launched an assault with _Modal_ but his constant strikes weren't fast enough to break his trainer's defence. For a hammer wielder, Manner seemed to be able to move surprisingly fast, much faster than Ruhe himself (especially considering the man's rather… _large_ physicality). The trainer drove the Stiert boy back with the tip of his hammer and rushed forward, swinging. Ruhe blocked the strike with _Regen_ , but the shield shattered and he was propelled backwards, sent flying into one of the walls. Ruhe's body bounced off the cold concrete, eliciting a groan of pain from the boy as he slowly got to a knee.

"Ha ha ha!" Manner, having safely sheathed his war hammer on his back, held a hand out to the boy as he chortled heartedly. Ruhe gratefully accepted his trainer's hand and was hauled to his feet. He shakily found his balance as a hand slapped against his back. His chest was heaving in and out

"Yer getting too damn good!" Manner laughed. He seemed to laugh after almost everything he said. He quickly realised how fatigued Ruhe seemed and supported him over to a bench at the end of the training room.

"Still having some trouble controlling yer weapon there I see. It should've been able to soak that blow no problem."

Ruhe nodded, "Yeah, it's just that using that thing is extremely taxing for my mind." – Ruhe held a hand to his head, rubbing his temple with his forefinger and index as he did so – "I get a pretty bad headache after about a minute using it."

"Ah you've only had it a couple months and already it's looking promising!" – he slapped Ruhe on the back again – "After all, James did say ya needed a ton of mental discipline for that thing."

"Yeah…" Ruhe stared at the puddle of liquid on the floor where _Regen_ had shattered, "Still don't know how the damn thing even works."

"James explained it fairly well, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but I'm no scientist, Manner. The most I know is that they shoved even more stuff into my bloodstream… there's enough stuff floating around inside me… I think I should really be dead by now."

Manner chuckled, "James ain't no scientist either." – he looked out across the training room where dummies lined the floors and the occasional door broke the wall – "I don't really see much of an issue having all these drugs floating around in your bloodstream, you look fine to be honest, better than ever really!"

Ruhe gave a light-hearted chuckle, a rare sight for Manner, and said, "It sucks having to jack up on dust every day though."

"Ah, yer looking at the bad stuff, boy!" Manner stood

"Is that an invitation to kick your ass I hear?" Ruhe grinned

"I don't know, is it?" Manner smiled in return

It was almost funny to Ruhe, actually. Manner was one of few people the boy held actual respect for and – by extension – really opened himself up to, showed his true self. It's not that he didn't want to be his real self when it came to other people; he just found it physically impossible and absolutely disgusting to act all buddy buddy with someone who hadn't earned his respect.

To Manner, Ruhe Stiert was not a bad child at heart. Sure, he seemed completely cold and emotionless on the outside, even at his young age, but Manner would simply describe that as the boy's natural stubbornness. Once he found his way to the boy that lived behind all that cold stubbornness, once Ruhe trusted and respected him, it was like a completely new person had surfaced. He would crack the occasional joke and Manner actually found joy in talking and training with the boy. Perhaps it was just his depression that made him see others in such a dull light, manner did not know, but what he did know was that there was someone buried deep inside and that someone just needed to be rooted out.

Ruhe took his place opposing Manner, having gathered _Modal Regen_ and transforming it into a briefcase. They stared each other down, Manner wielding his war hammer and Ruhe with his bare hands extended.

His hands move in some exaggerated air Kung Fu type movements (which were unfortunately necessary, much to Ruhe's dismay) and a small flame lit on the tip of his index finger, soon spreading to his palm. Before long, the flame fizzled and died in his palm.

"Trouble in paradise, eh?" Manner tittered

"I don't get many opportunities to practise with dust; there's always _somebody_ watching me."

"Then use this time now!" Manner suddenly bolted forward, raising his hammer overhead and bringing it down with a powerful bellow. Ruhe quickly moved his hands about, forming a miniature blue glow in his palms and swiftly creating a block of solid ice. Manner's hammer crushed through the fragile material, but it managed to soak up most of the shockwave from the strike, allowing Ruhe to wave his hands again, casting a wave of fire towards Manner.

His trainer jumps the barricade of flames and flies towards Ruhe, hammer raised. The Stiert attempts to create another ice barrier, but the process chews through too much time and he is forced to roll right to avoid the blow. As the hammer collides with the floor, sizeable splinters of concrete fly about and Ruhe was barely able to catch one headed straight for his face.

He used the concrete as a projectile, launching it with deadly precision towards Manner as he raised the handle of his hammer to block it. The solid material shattered like glass and Manner was already encroaching on his opponent once more. Using earth Dust, Ruhe manifested a wall of rock between him and his opponent, intended to but some time as retreated and prepped himself.

As Manner drove through the wall of earth Ruhe bombarded him with a cascade of ice spikes. He was unable to see if they had hit their mark through the dust that had sprouted up. Suddenly, Manner's war hammer flew through the cloud at an incredible speed; Ruhe's eyes widened as he tracked the hammer, attempting to conjure up a barrier of earth to block the hammer-turned-projectile but was too slow to do so, the hammer striking him point in the centre of his chest and catapulting him back into a wall for the second time that day.

Ruhe groaned and hissed in pain as he sat up; there was definitely a shattered rib or two. He sloppily pulled his left sleeve up and lifted the screen of the device bolted to his arm, revealing a small compartment beneath nearly half the size of his forearm. He took one of multiple thumb-sized syringes containing a white liquid and plunged it into his arm.

Manner appeared in front of Ruhe's seated form, sporting a rather casual look.

"Yer aura really sucks, eh?" he chuckled, "Never seen those ones before." He was talking about the syringes in the device on his arm.

"You wouldn't have." He said, his voice shaky and slightly weak, "I've been experimenting a little with Dust mixtures."

"If I had to guess, I would say that it's some sort of super dangerous Dust combination that only benefits you?"

"You guessed right. I suppose the amount of crap running through my blood has something to do with it, but this stuff enhances my body's regenerative capabilities by… quite a lot." He finished, standing to his feet naturally and brushing the specs of dust that had gathered on his coat. When he looked up, he was confused to see Manner giving him a hard glare.

"You could have killed yourself." His voice was stern, laced with an underlying worry that Ruhe was unable to identify. Ruhe raised an eyebrow questioningly and failed to see Manner's fists clenched at his side.

"I used test subjects first. I infused three of them with the same Dust combination in my blood since I couldn't get my hands on any of that other stuff James stuck in my arm. The three I didn't infuse died; the other three were… relatively okay." That was one of Ruhe's problems, one that Manner really didn't like. He said such things so casually. He didn't take death seriously.

Manner had once walked in on Ruhe performing his… experiments. He watched as the Stiert boy performed tests, different chemical substances injected into living subjects. He watched as Ruhe stared dead ahead, watching his subjects writhe in pain and finally succumb to death.

He may have been a good kid, but something had seriously messed with his head.

"The only side effect on me is the decrease in physical ability and aura level for the next hour or so." He placed the empty syringe back in the device's hidden compartment for later disposal.

Manner stared at him in silence for a short moment before giving him a hardy slap on the shoulder and saying in a sombre tone, "It's late, you should get some sleep."

Ruhe watched as his trainer walked through the door.

* * *

 **One year prior to current events**

 _Christ that stings_

He tossed the syringe into a nearby bin as he felt heat surge through his veins. He suppressed the urge the scream as his muscles tensed through the pain. His veins ran red, swelling and pulsating from his skin as the liquidised dust fused with his blood. His mind shook and his head throbbed, beating against the lining of his skull; he felt as though his head would explode any minute. Nerve endings fired off in his upper torso as the substance spread from his arm, flooding through his body. The feeling was akin to having oversized maggots crawling beneath your skin…

But damn did it feel good.

Suppressing the addiction that overwhelmed his mind, Ruhe let himself sink back into the armchair accommodating his body. He let out a long, relieving breath as his muscles began to relax. Injecting chemicals into his body on a daily basis, Ruhe found, was not all that fun. A knock sounded and Ruhe's head snapped straight to the door of his room in the Stiert home. A voice came through, lightly.

"Mister Stiert, we are prepared to leave, if you are as well?" By the time the voice had finished Ruhe had already begun opening the door, revealing a guard dressed in an extremely ambitious suit of armour, regarding appearance. Ruhe recognised him as a guard who had been present at several important events he had attended previously. Ruhe nodded to the guard and followed as the man led off down the hall. The guard seem to walk sternly with a burdensome step in complete contrast to Ruhe's weakened stumbling. He tried his best to hide the shakiness in his legs, hoping it would clear by the time he reached the transport.

"Yin." Ruhe called forward, pulling the guard's name from the back of his head. Yin didn't reply but instead turned his head slightly, letting Ruhe know he had his attention. "Why are we to attend a _Schnee_ event?"

"It is common courtesy to accept an invitation from a rival, Mister Stiert." Came Yin's simple reply

"If it is common courtesy," Ruhe started, still following Yin at a reasonable pace, "then what is the need of guards?"

"After the events three years back your father has been extremely cautious. I would say that the only reason you are even leaving the house is to put on a display of power; to stand by your father's side in public." Yin said. Ruhe stayed silent the rest of the walk. It was dark out, late night.

Before Ruhe boarded the small shuttle intended to fly them from the eastern regions of Atlas across to the western-most regions of the Atlesian land mass, Yin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Mister Rothland was assassinated this morning," he said sternly, "please keep an eye out during the event; we don't know who could be next." Ruhe nodded in reply and took a seat in the small shuttle. His father was already seated inside.

"Hello, Ruhe." He smiled

"Hello, father." Ruhe replied curtly. The entire thirty minute journey was spent in tandem silence, neither person raising their voice to speak. When they finally touched down on a docking pad in western Atlas, his father spoke to him.

"I understand you are unhappy to be attending a Schnee event, but this is necessary." Ruhe grumbled in response and turned his head to look out the window into the pale moonlight. The door folded open and Yin appeared from the cockpit, standing beside the door to the passenger compartment. Ruhe's father exited first, followed shortly by his son. Ruhe straitened his coat as he looked out across the airborne docks, shaded in darkness with the occasional lamp to break the veil. It was quiet.

"How is that independent branch coming along?" His father attempts to make conversation with his son, but Ruhe just shoots him down.

"It's not a branch; I just own a bunch of shops." Ruhe doesn't lead on with anything.

Yin heads the group with five more guards and three at the rear as they parade through the streets, garnering stares from the Atlesian public. Most look at them with a mixture of envy and appreciation, some others with hate and discontent. Ruhe ignores the glares and refuses to look anywhere other than forward, running a hand through his silvery hair every now and then.

Soon they encroach upon White Castle, a medieval, gothic-style castle owned by the Schnee family and where Weiss Schnee was set to be performing that night. Singing was never something that Ruhe Stiert enjoyed but it wasn't something he couldn't stand to hear. He held no form of respect for singers, the only respect in his mind was for fighters, leaders and businessmen.

The guards at the castle gates rushed to open them upon seeing the advancing squadron of Stiert-branded guards and the Stiert family members in tow. The Stiert guards divide their attention, two of them observing the Schnee guards and the rest probing the rooftops and architectural design of White Castle. As they enter the auditorium where the night's performance was set to take place, the chatter in the audience dies to a concoction of whispers and mumbles as they stare at the Stierts – whether out of respect or fear, Ruhe was unsure. They took their seats in the front row with Yin and the guards taking positions around the room and next to the stage. They seem to keep their distance from the more formally dressed Schnee guards.

Unfortunately for Ruhe, he was forbidden by his father from taking his weapon to the event. The loss of personal security put him on edge and his eyes often drifted around the room and into the rafters and upper-regions of the auditorium to probe for anything that looked mildly suspicious. He occasionally saw his father glance sideways at him.

Ruhe and his father sat silently for the duration of ten minutes until the performance began, the curtains pulling back to reveal the alluring appearance of Weiss Schnee. She was dressed simply, but even Ruhe had to admit to himself that she was indeed a beautiful girl. There was simply no denying that fact.

 _Cute,_ he mused.

He could care less for her singing. Whilst good, Ruhe didn't care for it, and blocked most of the performance out. He almost fell asleep, but his father would give him a soft nudge every time he realised his son was drifting off. Ruhe would respond by jerking away.

Ruhe manages to pick out the scar over her left eye as he watches her perform. All in all, there was one major question revolving about his mind:

 _Can she fight?_

As she concludes her song and gives a curtsey, a round of applause erupts from the audience and the curtains begin sliding closed. Ruhe gives his own small, unamused clap and just as the curtains close, Weiss Schnee catches his eye.

 _Enemies till the end of days,_ Ruhe smiles inwardly.

As the curtains finally slide closed, Ruhe's eye responds to sudden movement and shoots left to where Yin is unslinging the rifle from his back. He screams, "Get down!" but the crowd seems lost in its own applause as gunshots ring out through the room. A few of the audience members drop to the floor, but not by their own choice.

Ruhe could see the gunman now, three rows back.

 _White Fang… how did he hide his Faunus traits?_

He seemed to have slipped on the mask near the end of the performance and was picking out the wealthiest-looking attendants to fire on. Within moments, a guard tackles Ruhe and his father to the ground, below the chairs and out of the line of fire as he places several accurate shots aimed towards the gunman. Suddenly, Ruhe's vision blacks and a reverberating ringing becomes present in the Stiert's ears. It lasts minutes before his vision reclaims itself and light becomes real again.

The guard standing over them had disappeared, thrown back against a wall and now unmoving, a deadly stillness overcoming his body with his rifle lying beside him on the floor. Ruhe's vision was still blurry and all he could make out was the piercing moonlight from the skylight. In a short moment, a blurred figure appears over him, saying something. His mouth is moving though the rest of his face is obscured by a helmet. Ruhe barely makes him out to be a guard. As his ears clear of the obnoxious ringing, the guard's voice became clearer.

"Mister Stiert, can you hear me?" It was Yin. Ruhe manages a nod, though Yin's head turned to look somewhere else and his gun rose, the barrel flashing a few times. Something feels cold in his hand.

"The White Fang somehow got in. Every Schnee personnel were evacuated before the attack, so I'm told." Yin says as Ruhe sits up, leaning against a half obliterated chair for support.

"What happened?" Ruhe asks, realising that Yin had placed a sidearm into his hand.

"The gunman had a bomb, then the Fang rushed in after the explosion."

"Where's dad?"

"Unconscious." Yin says blankly gesturing behind him. His father's limp figure had been rolled onto his back and blood spilled from his face. A guard was tending to him. Something crossed Ruhe's mind.

"The Schnees evacuated?" Yin nods in response, still firing on the encroaching hoard of White Fang members as they return with their own hail of gunfire.

"Then they knew this was going to happen…" Ruhe leans over the broken chairs and drops two Fang members with a couple bullets. Four more guards join them, one guard with one of his wounded brethren in a fireman's carry over his shoulders. Thankfully for them, the White Fang seemed to lack a sufficient supply of projectile weapons.

"We got two casualties!" One guard shout over the gunfire as his friend gently lays the wounded guard onto the floor. The guard previously attending to Ruhe's father rushes to the new wounded. Two casualties and there were seven other guards here, one wounded… this was the entire guard detail.

"Damn dirty Schnees!" Ruhe hissed under his breath as he took out a few more Fang members. The numbers seemed to be thinning considerably. The guards were damn good at their jobs.

 _So… the Schnees are playing desperate…_

It was true desperation, resorting to terrorism to eliminate your competition. Technically, the Schnees weren't the one committing a terrorist act, but as far as Ruhe was concerned, this was all their doing.

 _They must have known a Fang attack was planned._

One guard's head shot back as a bullet pierced his visor, ricocheting off the back of his helmet and straight back into his face a second time. Their aura would only last so long.

"Man down!" a guard shouted as he reloaded his rifle.

"I count thirteen!" another shouts as he ducks back behind cover.

A sudden spout of anger well sup inside Ruhe and he shouts at his unconscious father, "You know what would be really useful right now? MY WEAPON!"

Yin takes a bullet through the shoulder as his aura depletes. A pair of White Fang members reach the front rows and a guard produces a baton and runs to intercept them. The Fang produce swords.

The guard rushes forward and deflects a slash from the first Fang, sliding across the ground and taking the second Fang's legs out, incapacitating him with a knee to the face as he falls. A few strikes to the first Fang's legs allow him time to snap the Fang's neck as he simultaneously puts a bullet in the other's face with a pistol. The body is used as a shield as he runs back to cover.

"Six!" a guard shouts, counting the remaining Fang. Soon enough, the White Fang are cleared out and bodies litter the White Castle auditorium, civilian and Fang alike. The guards sling their rifles behind their backs.

Three guard casualties and one injured. His father was also injured.

"The local authorities should be arriving soon." Yin says. He took a bullet through the shoulder and was clutching at the wound, though seemed otherwise unfazed.

"I swear," Ruhe's fists clench and his expression becomes stern and riled, "If I ever see a Schnee, I will be making them atone for what has happened tonight." He looks out among the deceased and utters a silent prayer.


End file.
